


A One-In-A-Million Shot

by Itsagoodthing (itzagoodthing)



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Explicit Language, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, My Spanish is only as good as Google translate makes it, brotherly bantering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22739359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzagoodthing/pseuds/Itsagoodthing
Summary: Things were already looking grim for them before one ricocheted bullet made it even worse.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 115





	A One-In-A-Million Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle with me. This is my first attempt at writing for this fandom. I recently stumbled on the show and love the characters. This ones-shot came to mind and would not leave me alone. So, I knew I had to write it if I ever wanted to sleep again. You know how that goes. Seeing as I can’t find any h/c Javier Peña anywhere, I am unsure of how well this fic will be accepted. I just hope someone out there likes it. 😊

Crouching beside their vehicle, gunfire came at them from all sides. They were pinned down in the city street.

DEA Agent Steve Murphy heard the shot ping off the jeep but it wasn’t enough to really grab his attention. Not when about fifty other rounds had already done the same damn thing. But, the yelp cut off by a choked gasp from the other side of the vehicle? Now, that was a different thing entirely. 

Ducking below the open passenger door, The agent looked through the front seat to the other side just in time to watch Peña slap a hand over his neck. He threw Steve a stunned look and crumpled against the jeep.

“Javi!” Murphy shouted, turned back and shot a guy off a balcony, and hollered again for his partner, “Peña!”

He took a searching glance through the front seat, saw the open driver door, but couldn’t get a visual on his partner.

Cursing to himself, Murphy turned and started to round the back of the vehicle. The back tire exploded in front of him and spinning back around, he dove into the front seat. Pushing through broken glass and exploded coffee, he hauled himself out of the open driver door as the surrounding gunfight dragged on around them. Half-landing on Javi’s legs, he belly-crawled off him, arching over the injured agent as shots peppered a civilian car beside them.

“Fuck!” shouted Steve, shielding his partner as more glass exploded and rained down over them. Bits of building stucco chipped free by flying bullets pelted against his back as Peña choked beneath him. Ripping off his aviators, Steve cursed when he finally got a good look at the damage. It wasn’t pretty.

Holding his hand over the side of his neck, Javier was trying to keep his blood inside his body, but judging by the way his hand was coated in red, Steve could see that wasn’t going so well for the guy.

“Fuck, Javi. Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” he muttered, pressing his hand over his partner’s. He felt the back of his neck with his other hand and found the exit wound. “Okay…,” he muttered and looked down, “Through and through, Javi, okay? Hang tight, brother.”

He held pressure to the wound Peña wasn’t covering and used his other hand to grope around on the front seat. Blindly searching for the radio, he tried to keep them covered from flying debris and worked hard to ignore the terrible wet gasping sounds coming from the man lying on the road beside him.

His fingers found the antenna, and he yanked the radio out.

“Hey—!” His bloody finger slipped off the button, and he swore. Juggling the handset, he got a better grip and tried again. “Hey, I’ve got a downed agent—Peña’s hit! He’s critical! I need evac!”

“Negative, medical won’t be able to get to you until the shooting stops. Can you get him out?” 

“Not without help!” he shouted over the thundering report of machine gunfire. “I can keep him from bleeding out, or I can drive, I can’t do both!”

Javier squirmed under him, coughing, and Steve looked down. “Hold it together, Javi.” His thumb rubbed over blood-slicked skin, saying, “Work with me here.” His partner opened his eyes, squinting up at him, and Murphy raised his eyebrows, ordering, “Breathe, man.”

“Give me your 10-20.”

Thank fuck. That was Carrillo. Murphy gave him his coordinates and then was told to hold his position. He could do that, and nodding at the radio in his hand, he replied, “Roger that. Murphy out.”

Tossing the radio on the street, he looked at the blood staining the side of Peña’s neck. He pressed his free hand over his partner’s, pushing and forcing down more pressure. His actions pulled a wet groan from the injured agent.

“Javi. Look at me. Hey, eyes on me, brother.”

Javier squirmed, his boot scraping against the street, and he peeled his eyes open. He searched for a second, and Steve leaned in closer, “Right here, man.” Peña dragged his eyes over; found him, and Steve nodded, “I gotcha, partner.”

The agent tried to say something but just started coughing again.

“Hey, no. No talking,” Murphy ordered. “You keep looking at me and you breathe. Okay? You stay alive. That’s your only job.”

The intensity of gunfire around them seemed to double, and Steve swore. He was thinking about trying to rig up a pressure system for the wounds and throwing Peña into the backseat when Carrillo dropped down beside them.

“Fuck, Peña.” The colonel muttered, “Can’t do anything by halves, can you?” while digging through a pouch on his belt. He pulled out a package. Tearing it open with his teeth, he removed a length of packing gauze. Carrillo looked at Steve, “Hold him down.”

“We gotta get him to a hospital. He needs an ambulance.”

“There will be no ambulance until the gunfire ceases. I have men focused on your area to clear it quickly. Now hold him down before he bleeds out in front of us.”

Steve looked down at Peña. His eyes were closed again. Switching back to Carrillo, he said, “He’s got an exit wound on the back of his neck. I move my hands, and both the entry and exit will start pumping out his blood. Work fast.”

The colonel gave him a sharp nod, and Steve moved his hands away from Javier’s neck to press his partner’s shoulders firmly against the street. He watched Carrillo hold pressure to one wound as he moved Javier’s hand away from the other. Steve didn’t like how Javi didn’t resist. It told him time was running out as fast as the blood that flowed from his neck.

Carrillo started packing the gauze into the entry wound.

Peña came back to full awareness with a choked gasp and flailing arms, and Steve used his upper body strength to keep him pinned against the road.

Straining against the pain, the cords in Javi’s neck stood out as a strangled cry gurgled within his throat. His hand found Carrillo’s shoulder, and he pushed him, but there was no strength behind it.

Using his thumb to push the gauze into the wound, Carrillo wasn't delicate in his actions. He worked in a star pattern, shoving that damn cotton into Javier’s neck like he wasn’t going to stop until he’d packed it all the way down his throat.

Fist wrenched in the colonel’s shirt, Javier’s hips bucked off the ground as he tried twisting away. “Tranquilo, Hermano, - _easy, Brother-_ ” Carrillo spoke softly, “No pelees conmigo. _-do not fight me-”_

“Suck it up, Javi,” Steve shouted over his partner’s pained noises as Carrillo started working on the exit wound. “You got this, man. We’re getting you out of here.”

Carrillo snipped off the excess gauze and started talking into his radio.

Beneath him, Javier was trembling and gasping, and Steve squeezed his arms as he pulled back from where he’d had him pinned down. The gauze was already soaked through, but at least it was just running down his neck in rivulets instead of gushing like earlier. “Hang in there, Javi,” Steve looked over his shoulder as the colonel ended his transmission.

“They have the area secure. The Ambulance is coming through now.”

“Hear that, Javi? You’re as good as out of here,” Steve said, looking down, and whatever encouraging smile he had managed to throw Peña’s way fucking shattered when he noticed the way the other man stared back at him. Wide-eyed and desperate, the agent’s chest convulsed as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He was choking.

Steve grabbed at him, and before he could roll him onto his side, a wad of dark blood spewed from Javier’s mouth.

“Fuck!” Steve shouted, grabbing the downed agent by the shoulders and pulling him toward himself. Carrillo was suddenly back, grabbing Javier by his belt, hauling his hips in the same direction until they had him on his side. Strangled sounds, wet and terrible, clawed their way up Peña’s throat. Steve grimaced, muttering, “Don’t you bite me, you bastard,” and he shoved two fingers in his partner’s mouth to sweep the back of his throat. He cleared away a glob of thick blood and mucus, and Peña finally sucked in a fractured breath.

Steve closed his eyes in relief. Flinging the mess from his fingers, he wiped his hand on his jeans and gave Javi’s back a comforting rub as he choked and coughed out more blood. They’d packed off the wound, but he was still bleeding on the inside of his throat. 

Carrillo started shouting orders, and Steve looked up to see him waving in a team of medics to their position. “Medics are here, Javi,” Steve spoke, leaning down he looked at his partner. Javier didn’t move other than to choke on another breath. He coughed, and more blood dripped from his mouth, splattering to the ground by Murphy’s knees.

The team descended upon their little group. Carrillo and the lead medic had a short conversation. Sentences were clipped and delivered quickly without the embellishment of extra words. Carrillo nodded, and then the lead medic dropped down beside them. Raising his voice, he spoke to Peña loudly as his crew rolled him onto his back again.

Steve moved in to stop them, knowing the choking would just start up again, but Carrillo took him by the arm, “Javi’s choking on his blood. They need to put a tube down his throat.”

Steve paled. The pulling sound of a sterile package being torn open drew his eyes to a medic pulling out a tube and held it at the ready. Another was suctioning blood out of the back of Peña’s throat. Steve pulled a hand over his mouth. They were going to shove that damn tube down his throat while he was awake.

Javi was having a really bad fucking day.

The medic swapped out the suctioning wand for a silver scope with a curved blade. He gave Carrillo a nod, and the colonel leaned over Javi, spoke to him softly in Spanish for a second, then the agent was held down for a second time that afternoon.

The lead medic wasted no time in tipping Javi’s head back, and then the dull curved blade of the scope was being slipped into his mouth. Peña gagged, and Steve grabbed his hands as they flew toward his face. Later, he wouldn’t remember what he’d said, but letting Javier grip and pull against him, Steve talked to him over the sound of the Spanish being volleyed back and forth as the medics worked.

The man in charge started slipping the tube in, then swore and pulled it back out. It was tipped with blood. He gave an order and held the scope in place while another medic started suctioning again. The lead medic tried again while Peña choked and gagged with the most unpleasant gurgling noises. Murphy and Carrillo held him still, and finally, the medic gave an order and a flexible rod was pulled from the tube. The bag was attached. They gave it three or four quick squeezes and then Peña went limp, and for one terrifying moment, Murphy thought, oh my God, they’ve killed him.

Then he noticed, while no longer crushing, Javi’s grip on his hand was still strong. Carrillo sat back on his heels. He laid his palm on his friend’s shoulder and watched the medic secure the tube. When he finished, Carrillo leaned in close to say something and, son of a bitch, if Peña didn’t manage a half-smirk around the tube sticking out of his mouth.

Carrillo grinned back. Pressing his palm to Javi’s forehead, he let it rest there for a beat before he pushed back his sweaty bangs and got to his feet.

Murphy gave Peña’s hand a squeeze and then laid it gently over his stomach as he stood with the colonel. Carrillo walked with him a few paces, giving them room to bring in the stretcher. He watched the medics lift the agent, telling Steve, “Are you going to the hospital with Peña?”

Steve hadn’t actually thought that far ahead, but he didn’t hesitate when he nodded, saying, “Yeah. I’m going.”

Carrillo nodded, “Good. Retribution on Kiki’s death still holds weight in the world, but don’t assume every Narco in Columbia is smart enough to respect what that means. Understand?”

Murphy understood all right. Just because he and Peña were DEA didn’t mean Kiki Camarena’s protection from the grave was a guarantee. Especially when you were knocked off your ass making you ripe for some easy pickings, like Javi currently was.

“Agente!” Steve turned and saw the medic gesturing for him to come. Carrillo slapped his shoulder and walked off, and Murphy stopped to pick up Peña’s gun from the street before jogging over to the Ambulance.

He jumped into the back, and the door got slammed behind him.

The lead medic looked at him from his seat behind the head of the stretcher as Steve ducked and put a hand against the low roof of the Ambulance, moving to sit down on the bench seat by Peña. He watched the medic squeeze the bag attached to the tube down Javi’s throat a couple of times. Rubbing a hand down his mouth, Steve looked over his partner. He seemed too calm—resting, Steve silently hoped, and not unconscious, due to a deterioration in his condition.

He hesitated and then touched Javi’s arm. He didn’t stir, and Steve’s brows pulled together with concern.

The medic looked at him, trying hard to find the right words; his English was broken as he spoke, “The agente is…okay.” He stopped and then said, “duerme, uh—,” he thought when Steve shook his head, not understanding. “—con medicina. Si?” He explained, miming the action of sleeping.

He got the point and replied, “Sedated.”

“Si,” the medic nodded, confirming, “sedated.”

Steve could tell by the way the word rolled off his tongue that it was the same in English as it was in Spanish. Then, he wondered why the hell hadn’t they sedated Javi in the first place. 

Murphy pulled his hand away from Peña’s arm and leaned back against the Ambulance wall, blowing out a deep breath. Fuck if he knew, he wasn’t a medic. This guy was running the show, and his partner was still alive, so his judgement calls were just fine with him.

* * *

The back doors opened, and Steve jumped down as they pulled the stretcher out. Walking behind it, he shouldered past some guy who thought he had the right to stop him from entering the Emergency department beside his partner. The nurse or orderly, or whoever the fuck he was, tried it again, and Murphy turned on his heel, sticking his badge in his face. The guy recoiled back a step, raised his hands, and ducked out of the way.

Leaning against a wall, Murphy watched as the medical team moved his partner from the stretcher to a hospital gurney. The medics gave the hospital staff a rundown of what had happened, and then there was a flurry of activity around Peña. Steve couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he watched as he also kept an eye on the people _not_ working on his partner.

Escobar’s gone a little off the rails ever since Carrillo came back to town, giving himself a homecoming gift by pissing all over the narco’s own mural. His snitches would have already reported back to him about the gunfight involving his men and the Colombian police. News that a DEA agent had been critically injured and was at the local hospital would have been hot intel. Escobar was getting desperate, and just like Carrillo warned, Steve wouldn’t put it past him to use this as an opportunity to pluck out one of the thorns from his side.

The team around Peña dispersed as a guy in scrubs started pulling the gurney out of the medical bay where they’d been working. Steve took a few jogging steps to catch up, and he was approached by a doctor trying to halt him, “Lo siento señor, pero lo están llevando a cirugía y no puede ir con él.”

Steve understood, ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ but then the rest was lost to him. Grabbing the rail of the gurney, he glanced down at Javi. The guy was still out cold. The doctor touched his arm, and Steve asked, “Habla Ingles?”

The doctor shook his head, and the gurney started to move again; Steve along with it. Someone tried to hold him back. He grabbed the rail, keeping himself from getting separated from his partner, and saw a security officer making his way over.

Steve spoke above the commotion, asking, “Who speaks English? Anyone?” The people around him looked around. The security officer tried to take him by the arm, and he shoved him away. Taking out his badge, he pointed at him as he went for him again, ordering, “Stop.”

The guard tried talking to him in Spanish, and Steve muttered, “Fucking hell.” Pulling out his gun, a chorus of gasps erupted around him. The security guard’s hand flew to his own holster and Steve slapped his firearm down on the mattress next to his partner’s leg, yelling, “Get me someone who speaks English!”

“Sir, please, calm down.”

Murphy turned to see a woman in a white coat striding across the department toward him. He pointed at her, “You understand English?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. You tell them that this man,” he pointed at Peña, “is United States DEA. I’m his partner; wherever he goes, I go.”

“I understand, yes. His doctor tells me he needs surgery. You can stay with him through preop, but you will not be allowed into the operating room. This is the best we can offer.”

Murphy wiped a hand over his mouth and not willing to delay things any longer, nodded. He tucked his gun back into his waistband, and the doctor waved off the security officer as she walked to the elevator with him. Touching his arm, she said, “Do not worry for your partner, agent. He is safe here.”

Steve looked at her as the doors slid closed, thinking, nowhere in Columbia was safe.

* * *

The surgery for the gunshot wounds in Peña’s neck took three hours. When he came out, a doctor that spoke blessed English came to find him in the hallway just outside the operating room. He told him that everything went well, and as it turns out, Javi was one lucky-ass bastard—his exact words.

While the ricochet round did the job it was made for by fucking up the muscles and tissues it tore through; it was a damn miracle that was _all_ that it did. It had somehow missed his artery, spine, vocal cords, and anything else that might have kept him from making a full recovery.

The doctor called it a one-in-a-million shot.

Hours later, slouched in a chair with his feet propped on the end of Peña’s hospital bed, Steve was working on perfecting a light snooze when a kick to his leg jolted him awake. Sitting up, he looked over and found Javier looking back at him with doped-up, groggy eyes.

Steve grinned, “Hey. How’re you feeling?” His smile faltered when instead of an answer, he got beckoned closer.

Standing up, he leaned over the head of the bed, and when Javi tried talking, Steve understood why he’d been kicked awake. The agent’s voice was just a ghost of a whisper as he asked, _“…water?”_

Murphy looked over at the pitcher on the table by the bed and filled a cup halfway. He handed it over and sat on the edge of the bed while Javi took a few sips. Wincing as he swallowed it down, he passed the cup back, and Steve placed it back on the table.

Javi raised a hand to the bandage around his neck and winced again. “So, is this permanent?” he rasped, gesturing at his voice.

“Nah, the doc said you would probably have trouble talking for a few days because of the swelling, but you’re going to come out of this like the lucky son of a bitch that you are, Peña. You’re gonna be fine.”

Javier’s gaze turned intense as he asked, “Nicolás?”

Murphy looked away, and Peña cursed.

Closing his eyes, Javi’s head thumped back against the pillows. Steve understood the frustration. They’d been after the guy for weeks and this was the closest they’d ever been before. He was practically gift-wrapped for them and the slippery fucker still managed to get away. Again. 

“Don’t waste your energy getting pissed over it, Javi. We’ll keep after him until he’s in lockup. His luck will run out sooner or later.”

His partner exhaled a deep sigh and looked at the darkness outside the window for a minute. Then he held a hand to the bandage covering his wounds. Grimacing, he turned back, asking, “What time is it?”

Steve looked at the glowing hands of his watch, saying, “2:45.”

Javi looked him over for a second and then thumbed toward the door, telling him, “Get out of here. Go home; get some rest.”

Steve nodded, saying, “I will.”

“You don’t need to stay.”

“Javi, shut up.” His comment earned him a cocked eyebrow in response, and Steve leaned in, saying, “You just about bled out in front of me today, partner. So, don’t give me shit just because I don’t ditch you like a backup prom date the second you come around.”

Javier shifted his head against the pillow and looked at him for a beat before telling him, “You’re just pissed because you thought you were going to get stuck finishing all those reports on your own.”

Steve looked over and then rolled his eyes at Peña’s dopy grin. “Yeah, well,” he pushed to his feet, “Seeing as you’re going to be stuck on desk duty for a while, guess I won’t have to worry about that anymore. Eh? It’ll be like having my very own secretary for a while.”

Javi’s eyes closed, but he smirked and, with his wisp of a voice, muttered, “Fuck off.”

Murphy chuckled. Sinking into his chair again, he slouched down and propped his feet up on the edge of Peña’s bed, telling him, “Get some rest, brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
